Still looking for a good day on the fairway, Pub. 7.2.2008, All papers

 By: Donavon Campbell

The game of golf sounds simple enough. Hit a little dimpled ball resting on the ground at your feet with a metal club.

The ball doesn’t move, the player doesn’t move; just concentrate, take a deep breath and hit it. Simple, right?

I’ve spent a good part of this spring and early summer actually learning the game. I know the rules: birdies, bogies, eagles, par, etc. I know you don’t cough or pass gas or answer your cell phone when someone is about to take a swing.

But how do you play the game? How do you hit the ball correctly and, hopefully, far?

I’d played the game between five and 10 times in my life coming into this year and enjoyed it, but this year I got “the bug.” One of my friends, a decent golfer who grew up with the game, gave me a jovial warning: “Dude, it gets deep.”

What he meant was, once you get started actually trying to get better at golf, it never stops.

He was right.

I’ve taken lessons, during which my swing was completely reconstructed. It went from a straight-armed, stiff-wristed, horribly awkward thing that even my wife, who doesn’t play a bit of golf, said looked “unnatural.” Now, at least, it looks decent — the swing, I mean, not necessarily the results.

I’ve spent a couple hundred dollars at the driving range working on “releasing my wrists,” using my legs and “keeping my head in the shot.”

Oddly enough, I learned swinging a golf club has very little to do with using your arms. It’s in the hips, the feet, the shoulders, the wrists and hands, but if you’re using your arms, you’re doomed.

But slowly and surely, my swing improved. The muscle memory started forming, my stance starting feeling more natural. I even called a buddy to go to the range with me so I could show off what I’d learned.

Soon I was out on the course again. My scores weren’t any better, but occasionally I hit one of those “moon shots” that just effortlessly fly off the club and land with a heavy thud on the fairway.

And just when I thought things were coming around — boom. Or, should I say, whiff.

I suddenly find myself using my five iron to putt down the fairway while two elderly women tap their feet impatiently behind me in their rental cart.

They played through on the next hole.

All the while, I was left to wonder what had gone wrong between my brain, my hands, the club and the ball.

I was in the midst of hitting these horrible, limp noodle shots when I got an invitation to participate in a media golf outing at the Ohio State University’s Scarlet Course. It was part of a media day in conjunction with the upcoming Nationwide Tour event to be held later this month.

I accepted. I’d never played on a course nearly as nice or half as hard — and for free? I couldn’t pass it up.

Perhaps I should have.

Despite giving myself an ample handicap, I still shot an astronomical score. The course was beautiful and challenging. In my foursome were two gentlemen with very low handicaps and one other who was still much better than me.

The poor fools.

Those guys waited and waited while I clubbed around the grounds like some muppet neanderthal — all big swing, but the power of a sock.

Needless to say, it was both a wonderful and a bottom-just-dropped-out experience for me. I walked away having played a course worth talking about, but having played it so badly I didn’t want to talk about it.

However, after a few days off and some time to let the sunburn on the back of my neck heal, I decided to get back to the drawing board.

Or perhaps, I thought, it is time I got some clubs. So I used some cash I’d hoarded from an early summer birthday and went out and got fitted for just the right set of clubs.

They were beautiful, brand name and sparkling in the Sunday evening sun of a twilight round — I had to take them out as soon as I got my hands on them.

They felt great. I’d hit them well at the driving range where I purchased them and took my lessons. Nice and easy was the way. I wouldn’t have to try and power through my swing anymore I had the clubs to do the work.

And when I teed off, I was thinking, “Nice and easy; it’s just a ball sitting on the ground. It’s not moving. I’m not moving. Just hit the ball with the club.”

I hit the ball well. I hit the ball hard. And I watched as it went soaring off into the treetops far to the right, crackling out of my life and adding two strokes to my score right off the bat.

Oh well. At least I’m getting the most golf for my money.